Of Punjabs and Peaches
by Layered like an Onion
Summary: What happens when the daughter of a Goblin King and the "son" of an Opera Ghost meet? And what will happen when her arranged suitor finds out?  Set in modern times. Rated T for language, some suggestive content, and possible violence later on. Erik/Christine, Jareth/Sarah, mild Erik/OC, OC/OC.
1. The Storm of the Ages

As the sunset graced the horizon of the beige stone walls below her, a lone figure loomed on the ledge of an immense glassless window, leaning against the side with one leg bent and the other swinging aimlessly over the edge. Though the sun sank deeper into the gate of the Goblin City and beyond to the tangled mass of the Labyrinth, the figure was still unimpressed at the stunning sight. The waning golden light glinted on her flowing hair and young face, and gave her shadow a spindly aloofness, more so then what usually seemed to accompany her. Perhaps that was also a trait she inherited from her father, but she couldn't tell; her emotions were too wavered to tell anything apart. _I'm getting more and more like him; damn it._ To fit her dark mood, ominous murky clouds began to roll about the sky; preparing themselves for a torrential downpour. The first drops hit, heavy as lead; and as peals of thunder resounded across the sovereignty, she smiled and thought to herself on her job well done. _The storm of the ages is upon us, and it's my entire fault. I wonder what Father will think of my 'inferior' powers now.._._. _She uttered a laugh, though it became a husky growl as she suddenly sensed another presence in her room.

"Well, apparently now you decide to show your true colors. They are getting stronger, you know," the uninvited guest said, cynical and serious as he stepped from the interior of her room. Fine glitter settled on her wooden floor as he strode to her side, his eyes never leaving the back of her head, as if to see right through it to her face. He stroked her light, feathery hair. She seemed all too identical to him, but in the Goblin King's mind, that seemed all the better. Most of his Fae features had transferred to her,_ including my magic, thank gods_, but Sarah had had her own influence on the girl. Through Sarah's gossip and stories, she now wanted to always be traveling Aboveground and see Sarah's world, read her books and know her histories. Jareth had let her on occasion, but of late she had been going all too often.

"Hello to you too_, Father_," she said, without turning to acknowledge his being. The last word was flung from her mouth with contempt, like it had a vile taste she just couldn't stand. She gruffly crossed her arms over her chest. "If my magic is getting stronger, why still call them 'inferior' to yours? Why compliment what you criticized before?" She stared at a random point of their rainy panoramic view, to at least focus on something other than him. To focus on anything other than him and this stupid fight.

He laid a thin, gloved hand on her tense shoulder, bent down, and whispered in his daughter's arrowlike Fae ear. "No matter how you look at it, your magic will only be stronger than mine once I'm dead. And you know that won't be for an indefinite amount of time, albeit much longer than you would hope. You still have much to learn, and I only can be your coach on such matters," Jareth rose from his crouch. "The goblins are fools past their simplicity; they couldn't teach you what you already know. You have far exceeded that level of guidance."

She finally turned to her father and sighed. Her eyes shone back an unknown light that communicated without speaking; saying that she knew he had said the truth, but still with the hint of that daring defiance that Jareth has habitually come to know from his daughter. She sighed once more and her eyes betrayed her, for she had threatened herself not to cry under any circumstance.

She blinked hard, but her eyes brimmed with the hot tears of emotional pain and the yearning to be redeemed. Jareth saw these in her eyes, and his hardened kingly exterior broke, if ever for the moment. _She's too much like me._ He thought back to his own pained childhood and teenage years. The Goblin King gently pulled his princess and only heir into a gentle-but-awkward hug, and she clung to the collar of his cape like a frightened child needing an adult's guidance. Digging her cheek hard into his chest, she proceeded to openly weep.

"I'm sorry, Father." Her tears darkened the pristine whiteness of his shirt, her sobs wracking her body and soul. The deafening roar of the rain receded to a soft drizzle, tears of acceptance falling from the heavens.

"I know, Child, I know..." He lied, smoothing her hair as comfortingly as he could, and he observed how much it was like his, but more streamlined and longer, the ends just brushing the small of her back. "I know." But it was a half-truth, wasn't it?

_No, you absolutely don't know, but I can play at this game too,_ she thought.

Then she wondered: _What am I even apologizing for? What the hell did I do?_


	2. The Voice of a Phantom

**Layered like an Onion****-Sorry for the wait- studying, school finals, school within itself (Thank God it's over now!), writers' block (my arch-nemesis!); all of it takes up too much time! So here's the next chapter. I promise that this one will be MUCH longer than the last! And be warned, I blend Leroux's novel (more for the characters) with the ALW version (more for the setting), so you better be well educated on both... Oh, and one more thing: the Phantom's son is NOT a teenage Gustave (if you know PotO & LND), so you'll have to put that out of your head right now if you were thinking it! You'll see in time... *evil chuckle***

**And if you don't have any clue as to the ballet terms I use or what they look like when someone is dancing, look them up! It's always good to get more knowledge on a subject that you don't know about! **

**And since I forgot to include this in the previous chapter, I own only my OC's, not any of the Canon characters or their respective stories. :)**

**Now that this extremely ranting, long intro is over, time to get on to the story! **

_Chapter 2- The Voice of a Phantom_

**O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O**

"That went quite well," he said to no one in particular. The damp walls of the corridor echoed his rich voice dramatically, and he smiled at the thought of his voice being beautiful. True, it has been called beautiful before, even as far as divine, the breath of God, and more; but he knew none of it. He walked on through the twisting complexity of the Paris Opéra cellars as the din of the crewmembers trying in vain to raise the scrim he released faded behind him. Now with the modern electronic curtain grid system, all they had to do to raise the awkward set piece was flick a switch. But, being the wise technician he was, he had already tampered with the grid so no one but he could raise or lower the scenery mechanically. As he halted at the edge of his river, he stepped into the gondola, took up the oar and shoved it off the ledge. The boat glided over the black water like silk while he keenly maneuvered it through the murky passageways. All was his, inherited from his father. His lake, his cellars, his Opera house! As the gondola eased to the gate of the lake, the submerged trigger promptly raised the portcullis, and he swiftly anchored the boat on the shore.

He sighed, thinking that even though causing mayhem in the Opera may be interesting and always will be, there still isn't as much personal satisfaction without it directed at someone in particular. He had his father's acute taste for music, but so far hasn't been able to find the perfect notes. As he sat at the grand pipe organ's bench, he pondered as to why he could not compose anything. For the longest time he sat, staring at the blank staff lines on the papers strewn across the desk of the organ.

A thought hit him: _I need a muse._

**O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O**

"Oh, m'lady, that was beautiful!" Sir Didimus clapped along to the rhythm of the classical music spilling loudly from the crystal on the bedside table. It showed an instructor and about two dozen ballet girls performing a number that was extremely different than what the Fae girl was doing. Sarah stared in rapture as her daughter twirled, spun, and leapt around her bedroom. She had begged her mother and friends to come and see one of her most perfected ballet routines. More than a few unexpected goblins had also joined the audience to see their princess perform. She glided across the hardwood floor, making goblins run every which way to avoid getting hit by a rigid pointe shoe. She finished the variation with a magnificent leap, landing to do a double pirouette, finally finishing with a low bow as the music came to an end. There was an excruciating moment of complete silence, with just her labored breathing resounding in the room. Then a cacophony of applause and cheers rose from the spectators. Ludo clapped his great paw-hands together and yelled, "Good ballet, pwincess!" The goblins literally were bouncing off the walls, jumping from their seats on shelves and tabletops to hug their princess in congratulation. They hooted and hollered and latched onto her, dragging her to the floor and yelling consistently that she was a beautiful ballerina.

"GAH! Help me! Goblin dog-pile!" She yelled breathlessly, laughing all the while as she held the one arm that the crazed creatures hadn't gotten hold of, and felt her mother's hand grab hers. Sarah finally extracted her daughter from the mountain of goblins and, as the two tried to rein in their hysterical laughter, pulled her into a tight hug.

"You did well. I am so proud." Sarah said into the teen's featherweight hair. "So proud. I had wanted to do ballet for some time during my early childhood. How did you even learn to do that in the first place, Caoilte? " Sarah pronounced Caoilte's name the human way: _Kale-chee_. She walked to her bedside table and picked up the crystal to show to her mother. She dragged a finger over the smooth glass-like surface, lowering the volume, which now only contained the image of the instructor reprimanding an unlucky student in French.

"Thanks, Mom. I've been watching the lessons through crystals and learning the steps, "she said proudly. Her mother's apprehensive glance at the orb in her daughter's palm made Caoilte laugh. "Don't worry; I've been watching the absolute crème-de-la-crème, the Corps de Ballet at the Paris Opéra House!" _They may be egotistical little brats, but when it comes to ballet, they damn well know how to be good at it!_ she thought. "Can I get some breakfast now?"

"You haven't eaten?" Sarah cried, "You're thin as a rail, even without becoming anorexic! You're going to kill yourself that way; dancing to the point of exhaustion, and on an empty stomach, no less!" Sarah was already dashing for the doorway. "I'll bring you something now if you want, but you absolutely must have a full lunch later."

"Don't worry about me so much, Mom! I'm fine!" But Sarah was already gone. Caoilte flopped onto her bed, not even bothering to take off her pointe shoes. She did, however, abuse her magic a little, and spontaneously altered her clothes. She was now in a soft blue silk dress with little embroidered vines and birds in mid-flight around the collar and hem. Her hair was now falling around her torso instead of being in the tightly braided bun she had put it in to dance with. The goblins were coming down from their frenzy highs, and were now boredly milling about her room. "Can you guys leave already?" she said, putting an arm over her eyes. They started to leave, some taking the door, some instantly disappearing. The room became deathly quiet, but Caoilte could still dully hear the noise of the insanity that had engulfed the room a few minutes before.

"Hey, that was great," a low, slick voice said from the doorway.

Caoilte jumped at the unexpected voice. "Itanine, how long have you been standing there?" She pronounced his name in Fae: _Eta-ny-nae_. She lifted herself with an arm and saw the newcomer leaning against the doorframe with his tan arms resting behind his untamable mop of wavy shoulder-length flame-red hair. She rose up all the way and sat pretzel-style on the bed, making sure her skirt wouldn't ride up. He pushed off from the doorframe and sat on the end of the mattress. The door swung closed without either one of them touching it.

"Don't be so jumpy! You sound crazed." He brushed some defiant strands of hair from her face and looked into her eyes. He smiled slyly, flashing the sharp canines that were yet another Fae trait. "Scratch that; don't. I like crazed." At that, he grabbed her shoulders and gruffly pulled her towards him. Caoilte let out a screech and resisted. As their lips were barely an inch apart, she slapped him in the face, hard. Itanine exclaimed and reeled back at the unexpected blow.

"You're the one who's freakin' crazy!" Caoilte wiped her lips with the back of her hand, though he hadn't actually succeeded in kissing her. The thought alone was enough to send her onto fits of outrage. She stood and marched to her window. "We may be being forced into courting, but I hope you can resist that damn urge to make out with me every other minute when we're around each other. Otherwise, you're going to have some pretty horrible bruises." She crossed her arms over her chest and stared into the midmorning sunlight.

"Yeah, no kidding," Itanine muttered, rubbing his aching cheek. He strode up behind her and rested his chin on top of her head and running his fingers through her ivory blonde-white hair. He inhaled deeply and took in everything; her natural earthy scent, the way the sunlight complimented the soft contours of her face, the silken smoothness of her formless locks. There was a moment between them, for barely a second, before she snapped her head sideways, effectively jarring Itanine's jaw and knocking him off balance. The act sent him crying out and sprawling on the ground. Caoilte spun and stared down at him. "Oh, and don't even think about manipulating my mind, either. We'd just be in a deadlock."

"Oh, you suck!" he laughed and pulled her hand down so that now she was on the floor too. Caoilte yelped in surprise as her backside started to throb in pain from the impact. They rolled around the floor, laughing and wrestling to see who would be the one to gain the upper hand. Just as she was grabbing the neck of his tunic and readying to throw a punch, Sarah opened the door with a tray of food. They sat up and glanced from each other to her and back again.

She sighed and shook her head. "If you two are done with your antics, I have some food for a famished prima ballerina."

"Hmm, I wonder who that could be," Itanine joshed, pulling on the loosed ribbon on one of Caoilte's pointe shoes. Caoilte kicked his hand away and stood up. The succulent scent of a grilled meat wafted from the plate. Both teens breathed in the savory atmosphere and their mouths watered.

"Thanks, Mom. I owe you one," she said as she reached for the tray.

"Next time, eat before dancing. Then we'll call it even." Sarah handed Caoilte the platter and smiled. Caoilte grabbed it eagerly, rushed to her bed and jumped into it. Sarah gasped, afraid that the meal would flip onto her daughter in the process. But it hung in the air and slowly settled next to Caoilte's leg. "Can you stop doing that? It's unnerving."

"Nope!" She smiled, stabbed a slice of meat with her fork and shoveled it into her mouth. "You know, I would give anything to be having waffles and some bacon right now," she said through her mouthful.

"Well, I'm kinda hungry, too," Itanine reached for a portion, but it slid away of its own accord.

"Uh-uh, I don't think so. If you're hungry, then get your own damn food!" Caoilte picked up the plate and set it on her bedside table. As she did so, she noticed a poster being mounted on the wall of the room reflected in the crystal. She picked up the sphere and the image reoriented itself and focused in on the advertisement. "Wait a minute, what's this?" The notice read_: Do you have an unexposed talent? A passion for dancing or singing? COME NOW! The Paris Opéra House is now accepting international students for a limited time only and __totally free__! Elite access granted to each new student! Room and board included! ENROLL NOW!_

"Hey, look at this!" Caoilte held the crystal aloft so that her mother and beau could see. "It's vague, but can I, Mom, please? It's for a limited time only!"

Sarah swiped the orb from the girl's outstretched hand. She sat on the bed and turned it over in her hands. "It sure is vague. I don't know, it sounds dodgy. 'Totally free? Elite access?' That doesn't sound very safe. And this whole 'international students' thing, too?"

"A great way to meet new people and to be Aboveground again. Think about it, Mom. Please?"

"It's fine by me, but you'll have to have Jareth's approval, too." Sarah set the crystal on the bed and stood up. She extended her hand to Caoilte. "Come?"

"Yeah." She took Sarah's hand and they started for the door. Itanine, not wanting to be left out of the conversation, also stood up. "Did we invite you?"

"No you didn't, but you don't have to be so rude about it." His voice turned cold. "If you don't want me here, I'll just be leaving then."

"No! Itanine, that's not what I-" But she was too late. He had already disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

**O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O**

**And that's it! I'm not going to beg for reviews like others (though I might at a later date), but it would be a particularly nice gesture on your part. ;) **


	3. Truth from an Untruthful King

**LlaO****- First, a **_**HUGE**_** "Thank you!" goes out to my first two reviewers: JasperSelene Moonridge and Caelia di Mekio! And I'm**___**extremely**_** sorry for the wait, everyone! But this fic is my little pride and joy, so it will **_**undoubtedly**_** continue. Just expect random, sporadic updates from me—a chapter here, a chapter there, a couple sometime else. I just can't keep a schedule!**

**And I'm really sorry if any of the French translations aren't correct. I'm not naturally French-speaking, so I have to rely on Google Translate and such. Here's chapter three! :) **

Chapter Three- Truth from an Untruthful King

O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O

Caoilte stared at the place Itanine had been moments before, wishing that she hadn't just done that. Sure, Itanine's really annoying, crude, and too forward for her taste, but he's not_ too_ bad. He could also be entertaining, humorous, and at times, romantic, but in his own way. No "Bouquet-of-a-dozen-red-roses-and-a-heart-shaped-box-of-Swedish-chocolates" sappy romantic stuff, but still sweet. _Maybe that was too harsh,_ she thought. _He just wants to be included in my life._

Sarah noticed that her daughter wasn't paying attention, so she walked out of the room to leave Caoilte to her thoughts. "I'll tell Ja—"

"No. N-no. I'll go myself." She broke eye contact with the floorboards and bounded for the door. This argument had gone too long. She didn't even know what they were really fighting about! It seemed that every time she had tried to get to the heart of the subject, her father had sidestepped her questions and gave vague, cryptic answers in response.

She burst through the large wooden doors of the throne room and came upon the orderly disorder that the goblins seem to take with them wherever they go. Goblins were everywhere, sitting on practically every place available: the floor, on ledges, on windowsills, even a couple on the back of the throne itself. Some were playing with the black chickens that had overrun the Goblin City by running around and trying to pull out their tail feathers and clucking at them. Her father was casually sprawled on the throne with his cloak thrown over the back of it. She'd seen him do that so often in the past, but now that egotistical slouch just infuriated her further. She sighed and kept her control.

"Hey, can I go to this?" she asked, tossing the crystal through the air in the direction of the throne. He skillfully caught it with one hand and looked into it.

"I don't know. Can you?" he said after a second of peering into the glass.

She made a noise of aggravation. "You _never _answer my questions straightforward!"

"Oh, don't I? Why do you even want to go to this anyway?" He asked, rolling the crystal between his fingers and making the image of the poster swivel this way and that.

"Oh I don't know!" she uttered sarcastically. "It's better than just staying down here for all eternity! It's pissing me off! And you know what? Itanine is, too!"

"He's your courter. You might want to get used to him—"

"Only because you're forcing me to be so! Stop bullshitting me! Tell me the _real_ reason."

The whole room became silent. Goblins turned their grubby heads in the direction of their king's and princess's quarrel. Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and closed his eyes.

"You have become quite foulmouthed since you started taking more outings Aboveground." He said slowly, his voice iced over with sinister impatience.

It was not something she expected to hear. She had never noticed that her mouth had turned that unpleasant since she had started her excursions Aboveground.

"I...Uh...Wha'?" she spluttered.

He sighed. This was going to be a long, difficult conversation.

"You want the truth?" He righted himself on the throne, cape falling gracefully from the seat back, and motioned for her to come forward. She uncertainly shuffled to his side and crossed her arms.

"I'm doing this...for the safety of your happiness." He let that sink in a moment before continuing.

"I almost lost all that I really cared about in the span of one sentence. Six simple words and I was defeated. The girl got her baby brother back, and the horrid Goblin King was left to stagger in the outcome of his war path. Not many get second chances, Caoilte. I was lucky Sarah decided to come back. Not all are that fortunate. I don't want you falling for a mortal and having an end similar to what had almost happened to me. Arranging a relationship that cannot break will maintain that from occurring. Itanine is the son of an influential duke in a land that's not at the best of terms with the Goblin Kingdom. With your courtship—and ultimately your union—it will strengthen a bond between our realms. I want you to be happy."

"But that's just the point! I'm _not _happy! An 'arranged relationship'? Yeah, it's not working out! I just want to do this, to go and meet some new people. Get away from the Underground for a while. Maybe play a trick or two, cause some mayhem. Sing, dance, learn about opera, do some crap, whatever. Just, please...I wanna go. Please."

He stood up and paced the length of the throne room. He mulled over her rebuttal, staring back into the crystal at the poster and occasionally turning it in the light. "Are you certain you want to go to this..._whatever _it is?"

"Yes." She replied plainly.

He stopped pacing and turned on the heel of his boot.

"Then you have my consent. But on one condition: you cannot prevent_ any_ method for me to inquire after you."

Caoilte rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Like I'd be able to, anyway," she muttered sarcastically.

"Oh, and one more thing." He smiled now, his tone turning contented. "Make sure you cause mayhem. You've got the reputation of the mischievous Goblin Kingdom to uphold, you know." He twirled the crystal off his fingertips and it landed safely in Caoilte's hand.

"I will, I'll make sure of that!" She smiled impishly and ran from the throne room. She needed to get ready.


	4. At the Opera House

**LlaO****- now, originally I planned "Truth from an Untruthful King" to be combined with **_**this**_** one to make all of chapter three, but it was already going on eleven pages on MS Word. So I decided to chop them into two!**

Chapter Four- At the Opera House

O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O

As the next day dawned, Caoilte dressed in normal mortal clothes (even though she preferred them over old-world Labyrinthine garb, anyway) and used magic to hide the point of her ears and fade away the colored skin around her eyes. She bid her farewells to her friends and family before disappearing from the Goblin City, assured that she was only leaving to have fun, sing and dance a little, maybe learn about opera; nothing serious.

She appeared under a large shady tree in a park not too far from the Paris Opera House. As she was posing as the clueless tourist, she held an acceptance letter (forged, of course) and a map in one hand—highlighted with a route to the opera house—an old leather suitcase with faded travel stickers in the other, and had a beaten-up backpack slung over one shoulder. Quaint accordion music drifted on the breeze from a nearby café, along with the alluring scent of fresh-baked bread and coffee. After pausing for a croissant and a to-go cup of decaf, she walked along the Rue Scribe to the front entrance.

The Opera Garnier was all she had read and heard about: A massive cream-white building with tremendously elaborate carvings, busts and columns adorning the façade of it. Two beautiful golden angel sculptures stood on either sides of the roof, one holding a staff and the other raising a harp to the heavens. Both were flanked by two other sitting angels, looking down on Paris with their safe gazes. An enormous copper dome—now oxidized, a light mint green—topped off the colossal edifice. Caoilte had to admit, she was intimidated by the amount of intricate beauty and shine. The Labyrinth had always appeared to be a muted sepia tone, dull and bland, though the adventures one could have within its beige walls were far from boring. There were banners slung across the pillars close to the doors, welcoming new students in French and English. Caoilte threw back the last sip of her coffee and tossed the paper cup into a nearby trashcan before walking towards the entrance.

The security guards looked at her funny was she walked in, most likely because she was walking in unaccompanied by a guardian. She was still only sixteen, after all.

She stood in the line forming inside the entrance lobby. If she was intimidated before, she was even more so a thousand-fold inside. _Everything _lavishly shimmered gold and bright. Large, glittering chandeliers hung from the golden ceilings. Where there wasn't a chandelier, there was a delicately painted picture depicting angels in flight and humans gazing from earth and on clouds. Past the line of waiting people, children and teens were hugging and kissing their families goodbye, assuring each other that this will be an educational, once-in-a-lifetime experience and that they'll learn so much and have so much fun. She showed her acceptance letter to the elderly man taking them, and he seemed slightly suspicious that she was alone.

"What are you doing_, euh seul_? Uh, alone, sorry," he spoke broken English with a heavy French accent."Do you not have _un tuteur ou un parent_, uh, a parent or gaur-guardian? Sorry."

Caoilte hadn't thought of a cover story beforehand. She panicked slightly before retaining her cool.

"Not at the moment, but yes. I'm visiting my uncle here in Paris while I'm doing this program, and his boss wouldn't let him off work today. He said it would be safe enough for me to just come," she smoothly lied. _Damn, I'm getting good at this!_

"Bon alors, mademoiselle," he took her acceptance letter, and gestured for her to put her suitcase with the others in a pile behind him. She did so, then followed the trail of people into the main lobby.

Once more, she was struck speechless as she entered. _This place is just one wonder after the next!_ She thought excitedly as she gazed at the ornate sculptures and the magnificent grand staircase. It started as one giant granite flight, then separated into two and lead to either side of the entranceways to the auditorium. She walked up it in awe, choosing to take the left fork when she got to the split in the staircase. It all felt so surreal; everything in the opera house was shining and glistening and gold. Caoilte was sure she'd never seen this much gold in all her life, and was pretty sure she'd never see this much again.

As she walked into the auditorium, she was once more in awe of what she saw. The hugest chandelier she had ever seen glinted and winked above her head in the light of the bulbs it was holding and from the wall lights illuminating the enormous theatre. It was adorned with gold harps—lyres, weren't these ones called?—and the metalwork seemed delicate enough to be taken for golden lace. The dome above her head was painted like the rest, but had apparently been painted over the original artwork. It now depicted Parisian landmarks, ballet dancers, angels and humans, but was now garishly bright and popping with modern-looking primary colors, making it look looking lazy and unfinished. It clashed horribly with the rest of the beautifully elegant images around the opera house, and Caoilte wondered who the hell would let someone blatantly destroy the beauty of it all.

The house and stage were wonders within themselves. The house was bedecked with colossal gold columns, all delicately carved with images of angels, stretching from floor to ceiling in the wraparound room. Tiers upon tiers of personal boxes were open, their red velvet curtains tied back with sashes. The stage was massive, and the curtains were pulled back, allowing a view all the way to the back. The whole room seemed to overwhelm the guest with a sight of red and gold.

She noticed the new students were sitting in the floor seats of the house, close to the immense stage, and she went to find a seat. She also noticed that most of the students were French girls, chattering excitedly to each other. There were a few embarrassed-looking boys, and a motley assembly of other kids and teens.

_They all probably want to be a big star. Fat chance._

She saw a girl (She WAS a girl, right?) sitting on the far edge of the aisle seats, and Caoilte decided to introduce herself. The girl wasn't much older than Caoilte, and seemed to be the posterchild of teenage rebellion. A dark one-size-too-tight graphic T-shirt was stretched over her torso, warping the design—was it Ninja Turtles or a bowl of colorful soup?—across her chest. Jeans that should've cut off her circulation were ripped at one knee and boys' Nikes were lazily knotted at the ankles, leaving the tongue sticking out. Her auburn hair was sloppily cut to shoulder-length and badly streaked with bright red highlights. A pair of glossy black headphones were connected to an iPod Touch with a cracked screen, and as Caoilte got closer, she heard a throbbing bass, an electric guitar and a fuzzy sound, like someone singing, coming from the headset. The girl was bobbing her head up and down slightly to the beat.

"Uh, hi," Caoilte said to the girl. She didn't even turn around. Caoilte tapped her on the shoulder and repeated her greeting.

"Hey," the girl said coolly, turning around and taking off the headphones. She put them around her neck and gave Caoilte a nod, the music still buzzing from the speakers. As soon as the girl spoke, Caoilte could tell she was American. She couldn't think of what to say next; she hadn't actually been Aboveground enough to actually become friends with anyone. She would usually just be an observer; she would walk down the streets and not saying anything to anyone, just watch what people did on a daily basis. She settled herself into the plush velvet seat behind this new girl, shrugged off her backpack and said the first thing that came to her mind.

"What're you listening to?"

"David Bowie. Heard of him?"

"Uh, no."

"Really? Then you're missing out."

"Um, what's your name?" Caoilte asked, trying to turn the conversation in a different direction.

"Riley O'Shea. You?" she popped a bubble in a piece of gum she was chewing.

"Caoilte."

"No last name, Cale-chee?" Riley emphasized the pronunciation. "Your accent is weird. Where're you from? Britain or something?"

Caoilte had had the misfortune of having to explain her accent to people before. She'd never tell that she was from a magical kingdom filled with goblins and creatures and eternally-stenchy Bogs (as people would think she was crazy), so she had formulated a story a few years ago:

"Up until I was twelve, our family lived in London. Then we had to move to Massachusetts with Dad's business. Within the four years I've lived there I've lost part of my accent, though it's still here." She had been told once that her accent sounded like a mix of Upper London and the New England states, so she had stuck to that plan for her cover-up. "And I _do_ have a last name: King."

"Caoilte King. Weird," Riley turned back around and slid her headphones over her ears as a chubby, slightly balding man in a business suit, followed by a young, chipper woman dressed in a gray pencil skirt and a professional-looking blouse with a nametag walked onto the intimidating stage. She held a clipboard in her hand and her high heels clicked as they walked downstage center to address the group.

"Bonjour! Welcome, welcome new students!" the man called, grabbing the kids' attentions. Everyone settled into their seats and became quiet, excitedly waiting to be told what to expect from this camp.

"I would like to say that the cast, crew, and staff all personally welcome you to this wonderful new camp. I am Monsieur Émile, the manager of the Opera Garnier. For the next month, you will live, learn, eat, sleep, and breathe this opera house in an effort to absorb as much as you can from this unique experience. Now, Madame Beaumont, here" he gestured to the cheerful lady, "is the head of tours here. She will take roll call every morning and evening, make sure each gender stays within their _own _dorms," he eyed the small amount of boys critically, "and will soon lead you all on an exclusive tour where you can see much more than what the tourists can see. And not to worry you today more than need be, tomorrow will be auditions. You all will individually sing something and dance, then act in a small skit, so we can see what levels of each skill you need improvement on." The lady stepped forward and addressed the group.

"We're all going to have a lot of fun!" she cheered, her bright French accent making it seem even more as if she was talking to a kindergarten class. _Can't she tell that most of us are past potty-training age?_ Caoilte thought.

"Now, I'll just take roll, then we'll take that tour, ok? Once we're done with that, I'll assign your rooms. Since there aren't actually any dorm rooms here at the opera house, and since the cast is currently on their off season, we've accommodated the larger dressing rooms with small beds and comfy couches. Tacky, I know, but it's all part of the fun of the experience, right?" She laughed uneasily, trying to appeal to the kids. Only silence stood. She cleared her throat and took roll quickly, each child answering "Here!" or raising their hand when their name was called upon.

"Ok, now that that's done, how about that tour, hmm? Now, first thing, look up! Don't you just love the ceiling mural? We graciously had Marc Chagall paint it in 1964. And the chandelier above your heads weighs over a whopping six tons! And the house you're sitting in (that's the theatre term for the part of the auditorium that the audience sits in, by the way) is almost thirty meters wide, thirty-two meters deep and twenty meters high and can seat 2,200 people! Now follow me, please! Just leave all your luggage at your seats; you can pick them up afterwards. And please, be respectful and leave all electronics with your belongings."

Some groaned at the notion of getting out of the seats. It was true, the seats were quite comfortable. Caoilte got up reluctantly from the soft velvet seat and followed Riley in that "I might have just made a new friend" manner. Madame Beaumont corralled the kids together, led them up the aisle and onto the stage. Caoilte was thankful she was at the back of the group; she didn't want to be too close to this overly-cheery woman.

"Aah, the stage! Did you know that this stage measures 1,350 meters wide and can have room for up to 450 artists?"

"No, I didn't!" Caoilte muttered in mock surprise. "But did you know you're an annoying perky chick with too-high heels?" A couple other students turned around to shush her, but Riley started to snigger.

"You know, that wasn't half-bad. You're not as boring as you seem."

"Yeah, but at this rate, I can tell this tour is gonna be."

So for another hour-and-a-half, they were herded around the opera house and told useless information by a woman who treated them like little kids. The only highlight for Caoilte was her and Riley's commentary throughout the entire tour. When they finally came back to the auditorium, they all happily sunk back into the plush red velvet seats, only to be told to stand up again so they could be grouped into their rooms.

"Now, this list goes by when your parents signed you up for this camp, unless it was boy-girl-boy or visa versa. Please be kind and get to know your roommates before asking to change. But if you are having problems with someone, we will change you to a different room. But boys will _only_ be with boys, and same goes for girls. No going into a room of another gender at any time, no exceptions."

She called names out and students got paired off, usually three or four per group. _I hope these dressing rooms are big enough. I need some leg room,_ Caoilte thought as a group was finished off.

"King, Ca...Kay—cow—cay-o—?"

"Caoilte. Caoilte King." Caoilte corrected as she stepped forward.

"Kale-chee? Alright," Madame Beaumont scribbled something onto the clipboard before calling the next name.

"O'Shea, Riley?"

"Sweet, you're rooming with me," Riley said as she stood up.

"Wilson, Emily?"

"Who?" Caoilte asked. A small girl with lightly tanned skin and wavy light brown hair quietly stepped forward. Neither Caoilte nor Riley had even noticed that she had been in the group of kids. She was small in every way: she was short, with barely any stomach and quite flat-chested. She looked about a year younger than Caoilte and Riley.

"Hi," she said shyly. By only one word, it was unmistakable that she was Australian.

"Hey," Riley replied with a nod. Caoilte waved.

"Please follow this young man to your room, if you would be so kind." Madame Beaumont said, indicating a stagehand that had appeared from the wings of the stage.

"All the girls' dressing rooms are over on the stage left side, here." He said kindly. His shaggy mane of dark blond hair fell into his eyes, and he twitched it to the side.

Once the three girls were out of earshot of the other students and staff, though, he began to speak freely.

"No matter what anyone says, don't believe what they say about the Opera Ghost not being real. I've seen the old bugger for myself; he's been screwing with the power grid and now has it rigged for his personal use. Why a ghost would need to use electronics, I can't know, but he's done it and I've seen him. Oh, I'm Marius, by the way."

"Like the guy from Les Miserablés?" Caoilte asked. She had just finished reading the massive novel a couple weeks ago, and the story was still fresh in her mind. That was one thing that her father and the goblins and other creatures couldn't understand about her, but her mother could. Caoilte always shut herself away in the deserted library of the castle beyond the Goblin City, curled up with a book of some kind. She always wanted to learn and to read and to watch and to understand what went on Aboveground, and those wants could never be quenched.

"The very same." He smiled crookedly at the girls.

"Oh, my big brother was Marius in our school's production of Les Mis last year! He's really good!" Emily said, clearly excited with the topic of theatre, but then looked sad again. "I was cast as one of the background prostitutes."

"I can see why," Riley joked. Emily blushed and hung her head embarrassedly.

"Riley! That's just rude!" Caoilte exclaimed, slapping Riley on the arm.

"God, I was kidding! Calm down!"

"Well, it was still really rude."

The four walked along the rest of the halls in silence. Once they turned into a dead-end hall, Caoilte suspected that Marius had made a wrong turn. Surely there couldn't be any dressing rooms this far back?

"Well, here's your guys' room." Marius said, gesturing to a plain door at the end of the hall.

"Oh, yay. We're rooming in a broom closet. " Riley said sarcastically, popping a bubble in her gum.

"Oh, you guys are special. I'm pretty sure you've read, or at least heard about, the Phantom of the Opera, right? Now, THIS room right here was the _very same_ dressing room that one Christine Daaé had a long, long time ago," he said dramatically, sounding almost proud of his performance.

Marius opened the door with a flourish, and sure enough, it was outfitted exactly like Christine's dressing room was described as, albeit more modernly furnished. The furniture was shoved to the sides of the room to make way for two small beds. A chaise with a blanket on top was also set forward. A full-length mirror hung on the back wall, with nothing impeding the full view of it, the frame gilded and the only thing in the room that looked remotely expensive.

"The mirror is still fully intact. Watch out at night, though, you might hear strangely soothing music coming from it. Don't be lured in by the Ghost, though; I've heard he's quite a seductive, sly old thing! Enjoy!" he said, and quickly closed the door on the trio.

"I call one of the beds!" Riley said as she flopped her messenger bag onto one mattress, before flopping onto it herself. She immediately got her phone and iPod out of her bag, slid the headphones over her ears and started texting.

"You can have the other bed, Emily. I'll use the chaise." Caoilte suggested.

"No, you take it. It's the least I can do, to thank you from keeping Riley from embarrassing me further in front of Marius back there."

"No, I insist, really. This old thing has gotta be comfier than it looks," Caoilte implored as she slouched down into the chaise, stretching out her legs and crossing them at the ankles, hooking one arm over the armrest. She had to admit, she felt quite like her father sitting this way. And the chaise wasn't very comfortable, but it was better than the floor.

"Well, thank you, Caoilte," Emily said quietly as she sat on the edge of the other bed.

"So, you said 'in front of Marius'. Got a crush blooming here?" Caoilte joshed. Emily blushed and looked down at her feet.

"I'll take that as a yes. You know, he _was _kinda cute."

"Yeah." Emily said wistfully, tapping the toes of her Mary Janes together.

"What's wrong?"

"I've just never been good around boys. Especially cute ones. I always try to say something impressive or cool and I always end up bungling it in the end."

"It's fine. Me and my...boyfriend are having some issues too." Caoilte didn't mention that said "boyfriend" was also a Fae duke's son that she was being _forced_ to date by her father.

"Oh, I didn't mean to bring up your problems. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You know what? I think we all need to properly introduce each other. Which includes ALL OF US, Riley." Riley grudgingly set down her headphones and sat up on the bed, phone still in hand.

"_Proper. Introductions._ Which means 'put that phone away or I will personally chuck it as far as I can off Apollo's Lyre for some lucky French hobo to find', Riley."

At that, Riley put away her phone.

The girls then introduced each other, their likes and dislikes, what they think they're better at than others, and their favorite things.

"Now, why are you two at this camp? How did you get in?" Caoilte asked when they had run out of things to talk about. By now, they had all changed into their pajamas and were sitting in a little triangle on the floor, sitting atop a small mountian of pillows and blankets. Riley was in a tank top and a pair of boxers (_Girls wear boxers Aboveground?_ Caoilte had thought incredulously), Emily in a T-shirt and flannel pants, and Caoilte in an ankle-length Labyrinthine nightgown, embroidered with Celtic-looking spirals and knots. (The other girls had wondered where she had gotten it from. Caoilte had lied and explained she had gotten it when she went to Dublin to visit her cousins.)

"I didn't even want to come. My parents forced me. They said that I need to 'broaden my horizons'. I think they're just saying 'get some freakin' culture already'."Riley said, and they all laughed.

"My mum's best friend from university is now the supervisory producer at the Sydney Opera House. She got him to pull some strings, and here I am." Emily commented. "I've always been into musical theatre, but maybe it's just in my blood. Practically my whole family is musical. I just can't dance," she blushed again.

"For me, it's the complete opposite. Not to brag or anything, but I _am_ a pretty good dancer. I just can't sing worth shit," Caoilte said good-humoredly.

"Oh, I'm sure you're alright. Can't be as bad as me," Riley assured.

"Ok, so..." Caoilte had run out of conversation topics. "Um, what's a trick that you can do that no one else knows you can do?"

"I don't really have anything special that I can do," Emily said glumly.

"Me either," Riley agreed as she popped another bubble in her gum, which _must_ have run out of flavor by now. "You?"

"Well, I can juggle," Caoilte said, dragging her backpack to her. She reached inside and pulled out four glass balls (unbeknownst to Riley and Emily, Caoilte had just made them appear in her bag).

"What happens when you drop and break them?"

"No, it's not _that_ kind of juggling. Just watch." She stood up and stepped a pace or two away from her roomies. So far, she had only been successful with three crystals and when she would try to add a fourth, she would always lose concentration and they would fall. But she felt confident now, and she felt like showing off for her skill-less roommates.

She held three in a triangle in one hand and set the fourth on top. She concentrated hard before moving her fingers up and down, turning the crystals counterclockwise. Waving her free hand over the pyramid for effect, she pushed one ball up with a finger, sending the one on top to the bottom and the pushed one to the top. She repeated this motion a few times before letting two fall into each palm. She twisted these across her hands; manipulating them and making them dance. Letting one crystal from each hand roll across her forearm, she had them stop at her elbows, balancing the other two between her fingers. She held her arms horizontal, and then quickly flipped her elbows, sending the crystals arcing over her head. Riley gasped and Emily ducked, afraid one would fall on her. But Caoilte neatly caught them on the opposite elbows and sent them swaying back to her hands. _Phew, that one is hard._ She took one ball into her hand and spun the rest in the other. She rolled it in a circular motion across her fingers and palm. She held it with three fingers and spun it over and over by turning her wrist. She flipped it back and forth across her fingers. The light in the room shone across the crystals, refracting small rainbows as Caoilte maneuvered them. She rolled them back into her hands and held them together to signal she was finished. Her roommates sat speechless; Riley's mouth agape and Emily staring at the crystals as if they were magic (which they were, actually).

"I'll take that as a compliment," Caoilte smiled as she sat back down on her pillow. She brought with her one crystal and flicked it lazily back and forth over her fingers.

"Hell. Yes." Riley said, watching the ball as it spun over her roommate's fingertips.

"Wow. I've never seen anything like that before." Emily breathed. Caoilte chuckled and weaved her hands over each other—back and forth, back and forth—passing the crystal over the backs of her hands and around her wrists, just as Jareth had trained her.

"How'd you learn how to do that?"

"My father had taught me when I was little. You should see _him_ do this, he makes it seem much more fluid and effortless than I can."

"Who does he work for? Cirque de Soleil?" Riley exclaimed. Caoilte laughed out loud and caught the ball on the fingertips of one hand.

"Hmm, something like that..."

"Ten o'clock! Lights out, girls! Get a good night's sleep and good luck with your auditions tomorrow!" Someone called from the hall. The three reluctantly crawled into their respective beds (or chaises) and closed their eyes.

"Damn. We forgot to turn out the light," Riley commented. "I'm too comfy to get up."

"I got it," Caoilte said with a yawn. All that focusing had tired her out. She waved her hand at the lamp, and the light went out.

"How'd you do that?" Emily asked, since she was turned away from Caoilte and the lamp, she hadn't heard her roomie get up to turn off the switch.

"Magic."

**A/N- For Caoilte's little crystal-show, I watched contact juggling videos on YouTube for reference, especially ones from Kevin Kalvus and, of course, Michael Moshen (the man who actually did Jareth's crystal tricks in **_**Labyrinth**_**, if you didn't know). Look them up, they're pretty awesome!**

**Dublin is the capital of Ireland.**

**All of the information I used in Madame Beaumont's tour is true, as well as the description of the outside and inside of the opera house. I looked up the weight of the real chandelier in the Opera Garnier, as well as the dimensions of the auditorium and stage. For the depiction of the opera house itself, I opened a tab in Internet Explorer, brought up Google Images and searched "Opera Garnier". Just some factual tidbits I wanted to throw at you. ;) **


	5. Auditions

**LlaO- Yay for my reviewers! Thanks so much for your encouraging reviews! :D Digital cookies for all! *throws a handful of chocolate-chip cookies in the air for her reviewers*Anyone else who reviews gets one, too! ;)**

**Yes, I _know_ we haven't had much interaction with our dear Monsieur Phantom yet, but he gets plenty of mentions in this chapter. We will hopefully meet him (or _will_ it be him?) in the next chapter! ^^**

**And remember Emily's and Riley's songs! Their lyrics may serve a slightly bigger purpose later in the story than just their face-value audition song. ;) (And if any of the lyrics are wrong in the songs, _please_ don't hesitate to tell me. It bugs me _so_ much when things aren't exact in my writing.)**

**Of course I don't own Phantom of the Opera or Labyrinth! Whatever gave you that idea? And I'm not P!nk or Kelly Clarkson, so I don't own their songs, either.**

Chapter Five – Auditions

"Time to wake up, girls! Everyone meet back in the house for roll call and breakfast!" someone echoed down the hall. Caoilte was the first to wake, and seeing that her roomies weren't so easily inclined to get up, changed clothes using magic. She then woke her roommates and waited for them to get dressed. The trio went out and followed the rest of the sleepy-eyed girls, some still in pajamas, to the auditorium. Monsieur Émile and Madame Beaumont were waiting for the campers on the stage. Madame Beaumont called role, most answering with a lazy wave or a tired "Here".

"Good morning, students! I trust everyone had a good rest last night, because you will need it for your auditions later today. " Monsieur Émile said after everyone was called. "But for now, you all need breakfast. La Café de la Paix has graciously partnered with us and given us ample supplies and staff to provide you all with three meals a day. Let us not impede on your first, and most important, meal of the day. They will distribute it downstairs in the lobby in about," he checked the watch strapped around thick wrist, "ten minutes. Please say 'Thank you' to the staffers serving you. If any of you are not fully awake, please wake yourselves now. If not, the coffee will," he said jovially.

"They let kids drink coffee in France?" Caoilte whispered to Riley.

"I dunno. Frenchies are weird," was her reply.

After they had received their breakfast (a choice of either juice or coffee and some kind of weird fruity pastry-type thing) in the lobby and ate it on the staircase with the rest of the kids, they were herded back to the auditorium and were told that auditions would start at three o'clock sharp. They should each pick out one song to sing to and one to dance to. Neither could have foul language nor insinuate anything inappropriate for younger ears. If a student hasn't chosen a song for either category, the songs will be chosen for them, in the form of randomly chosen sheet music from an opera and a piano accompaniment. Until then, they should get ready for their audition and decide their songs.

As the students were sent to their rooms to prepare for their auditions, Caoilte wondered what she could sing and dance to. Though she had seen and played with a few different electronic devices, she owned not one. They expected that everyone would have something to choose songs with! Caoilte didn't even know what the popular music entails nowadays! (Not even counting cultural differences between countries.) Riley had said something about that—_What was his name?_—Bowie guy, but Caoilte remembered that her mother once said she had had a childhood crush on him. _Bleah. I don't wanna sing or dance to anyone that Mom had had a kid-crush on. _

"What are you going to sing?" Emily came up and asked.

"I don't know. You?"

"I have an idea, but...I don't know. I don't think I'll be able to sing it. It's pretty powerful." Caoilte put a hand on Emily's shoulder.

"I'm sure you'll do perfect." Emily looked up and smiled. She chuckled.

"Exactly! Perfect. Thank you." She walked away with a little spring in her step. Caoilte sighed. _I hope that girl does great. She needs more confidence._

As Caoilte went back to pondering what she could do for her audition, Emily also asked Caoilte what she will be singing to. Caoilte gave the same response as before.

"Hmm, something old but not _too_ old. Something that everyone can remember all the lyrics to, if you just hear it. Something inspirational."

"Ah. How...cryptic."

"Yeah, it sounded weird. I breakaway from the norm. So?" She pushed past Caoilte and started to walk away.

"Nothing! It's... it's cool. Good luck." Riley looked over her shoulder and smiled.

"You too, with whatever you pick." Then she went on her way.

_I wonder what _she'll _sing. I wonder what _**I'll **_sing! _Caoilte thought as she hurried away from her friend. Unknowingly, she had brought ill fortune upon Riley by not telling her to "break a leg". Theatre people can be quite superstitious, after all...

**O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O**

After sitting on the grand staircase for a couple hours and wracking her brain for songs she could present, Caoilte still hadn't gotten any farther than when they had announced the audition requirements. Growing up in the Underground, a land of dreams and wishes, she didn't know many songs that mortals would understand, or at least while conscious. When a worker came over to her and said that the auditions would be starting shortly, she tugged at her bangs in frustration and reluctantly trudged back to the house. Riley and Emily were waiting for her, each with their respective iPods in hand.

"You got anything?" Riley asked.

"No."

"Why not? Don't you have an iPod or something?"

"No."

"Did you bring a laptop? You can get a song from Youtube or iTunes or Pandora or something—" Caoilte cut her off.

"No! I don't! I'm fed up with this! I'll just sing the stupid song they give me." Caoilte sighed and crossed her arms in defeat. "I don't even know how to read music. I'll try, but there's no promises that I won't maim the poor song they give to me."

"You won't do badly. We'll be sitting there, cheering you on." Emily promised.

"Thanks. Let's go."

**O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O**

"Emily Wilson?" Madame Beaumont called. Emily scrolled through her iPod, found the song she was looking for and handed it to a stagehand, who connected it to a portable speaker dock. Caoilte gave Emily a wide grin and a thumbs-up as she walked onstage.

"What will you be singing, mademoiselle?" Monsieur Émile asked blandly. He seemed quite bored with the whole affair and crossed his arms over his plump stomach.

"'Perfect', by P!nk." Emily stuttered nervously. Madame Beaumont wrote down Emily's choice on her ever-present clipboard. _Come on, show more courage! You'll never be confident without courage!_ Caoilte thought, silently encouraging her.

"Wait, doesn't that song have... " Madame Beaumont trailed off.

"It's the clean version," Emily assured.

"Alright then." Another scribble on the clipboard. "You may begin when you're ready."

Emily took a cleansing breath and closed her eyes. She nodded to the stagehand, and he pressed "Play". A guitar strummed the beat and Emily started to sing, very hesitantly.

_Made a wrong turn, once or twice.  
>Dug my way out, blood and fire.<br>Bad decisions, that's alright;  
>welcome to my silly life.<em>

The beat kicked in as the song started to come together. She sang less timidly, letting herself start to feel the lyrics.

_Mistreated,  
>misplaced,<br>misunderstood.  
>Miss "No way, it's all good."<br>It didn't slow me down._

_Mistaken,_  
><em>always second-guessing,<em>  
><em>underestimated.<em>  
><em>Look, I'm still around.<em>

The song stopped for a beat before flinging into the chorus. Emily let herself go and gave it her all.

_Pretty, pretty please  
>don't you ever, ever feel<br>like you're less than_  
><em>less than perfect.<em>

_Pretty, pretty please_  
><em>if you ever, ever feel<em>  
><em>like you're nothing<em>  
><em>you are perfect to me.<em>

The song calmed for the second verse. _Wow. She's an awesome mezzo! _ Caoilte thought.

_You're so mean  
>when you talk<br>about yourself,  
>you were wrong.<em>

_Change the voices_  
><em>in your head.<em>  
><em>Make them like you<em>  
><em>instead.<em>

_So complicated,  
>look how big you'll make it.<em>  
><em>Filled with so much hatred,<em>  
><em>such a tired game.<em>

_It's enough_  
><em>I've done all I can think of.<em>  
><em>Chased down all my demons,<em>  
><em>I'll see you do the same.<em>

The chorus began again. Emily's accent gave the song even more of a unique, personal vibe.

_Pretty, pretty please  
>don't you ever, ever feel<br>like you're less than  
>less than perfect.<em>

_Pretty, pretty please_  
><em>if you ever, ever feel<em>  
><em>like you're nothing<em>  
><em>you are perfect to me.<em>

She didn't even flinch when the tempo changed and the lyrics were rap-like.

_The whole world's scared_  
><em>so I swallow the fear.<em>  
><em>The only thing I should be drinkin'<em>  
><em>is an ice cold beer.<em>

_So cool in lying_  
><em>and we try, try, try.<em>  
><em>But we try too hard<em>  
><em>and it's a waste of my time.<em>

_Done lookin' for the critics_  
><em>'cuz they're everywhere.<em>  
><em>They don't like my jeans,<em>  
><em>they don't get my hair.<em>

_We change ourselves_  
><em>and we do it all the time.<em>  
><em>Why do we do that?<em>  
><em>Why do I do that?<em>

_Why do I do that?_

She let loose all her feelings and belted out the rest of the song.

_Yeahhhhh!_

_Ohhhh..._

_Oh, pretty, pretty  
>please!<em>

_Pretty, pretty please_  
><em>don't you ever, ever feel<em>  
><em>like you're less than<em>  
><em>less than perfect.<em>

_Pretty, pretty please_  
><em>if you ever, ever feel<em>  
><em>like you're nothing<em>  
><em>you are perfect<em>  
><em>to meeeee!<em>

_You're perfect!_  
><em>You're perfect to me!<em>

_Pretty, pretty please_  
><em>if you ever, ever feel<em>  
><em>like you're nothing<em>

Here she faltered and lost the uncharacteristic boldness. She sang the last line like she did the first, very hesitantly.

_you are perfect to me._

A moment of awed silence fell as Emily, the shy, hesitant little Australian, finished a strong, empowering song as timid as she began. Applause rang out from her audience as Madame Beaumont nodded in approval and wrote something on her clipboard.

"Next," she said with a smile.

Emily was greeted with warm smiles and praise when she returned to her seat.

"That was awesome. I told you you'd do great," Caoilte reminded.

"Thank you," Emily replied, a blush creeping across her cheeks. "I hope Marius was watching," she whispered to Caoilte as she sat down.

"I'm sure he was," she whispered back.

After a few lackluster performances, it was Riley's turn. She handed her iPod to the stagehand and boldly walked onstage.

"And what will you be singing?" Monsieur Émile asked.

"'Breakaway', by Kelly Clarkson," she announced bravely.

Madame Beaumont wrote the choice down. "You may begin when you're ready."

She sighed and nodded to the stagehand.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she told him. He smiled and pressed "play." A guitar and drums started the song off, along with a background singer singing rounds of "Da da da da"-s. Riley sang the opening verse fearlessly.

_Grew up in a small town.  
>And when the rain would fall down<br>I'd just stare out my window.  
>Dreamin' of what could be,<br>and if I'd end up happy,_

_I would pray._

_Trying hard to reach out,  
>but when I tried to speak out<br>felt like no one could hear me._

_Wanted to belong here  
>but something felt so wrong here.<br>So I pray  
>I could breakaway.<em>

She broke into the chorus boldly.

_I spread my wings  
>and I learn how to fly.<br>I'll do what it takes  
>'till I touch the sky.<em>

_And I'll  
>make a wish,<br>take a chance,  
>make a change,<br>and breakaway._

_Out of the darkness  
>and into the sun.<br>But I won't forget  
>all the ones that I love.<em>

_I'll take a risk,  
>take a chance,<br>make a change,  
>and breakaway.<em>

There was a musical interlude, and she let the track sing the background "Da da da da"-s.

_Wanna feel the warm breeze  
>sleep under a palm tree.<br>Feel the rush of the ocean._

She closed her eyes, imagining the sensation.

_Get on board a fast train,  
>travel on a jet plane<br>far away.  
>And breakaway.<em>

She sang the chorus with emotion, flinging her arms out like wings.

_I'll spread my wings  
>and I learn how to fly.<br>I'll do what it takes  
>'till I touch the sky.<em>

_And I'll  
>make a wish,<br>take a chance,  
>make a change,<br>and breakaway._

_Out of the darkness—_

Without warning, a sandbag fell down from the flyspace, aimed directly for Riley's head. She screamed, ducking out of the way just in time for it to hit the ground next to her feet and rupture, spilling sand all over the stage. She stared at the burlap sack in awe as people started to swarm around her, then looked up into the rafters above her head. She caught the faintest glimpse of a shadow slipping away off of a catwalk, but it could've just been a trick from her recently frazzled brain.

"Do you wish to continue?" Madame Beaumont's voice snapped Riley back into reality. She was standing next to her, her omnipresent clipboard abandoned on her seat in the house. "You can sit down if you want to."

"Yeah," she said vaguely as she started for the stairs off the stage. Marius and a couple other stagehands armed with brooms and dustpans came and swept the loose sand off the stage. As he picked up the sack and shook the sand off, Marius noticed that the rope knotted to it wasn't frayed by repeated use; it was cut cleanly across.

"What just happened?" Emily asked as Riley came back to sit down.

"I don't know," Riley said, visibly shaken. "But I saw something up in the flies."

"What did you see?" Caoilte asked. She felt uneasy, like someone was watching her.

"It looked like a person. They were coming off a catwalk, but then faded into the shadows in the scaffolding."

"Maybe Marius is right. Maybe the Phantom is back from the dead." Emily breathed, glancing at the stage and trying to peer under the proscenium into the flies.

"He's a liar," Riley told her. "There is no 'Opera Ghost'. Never was, never will be. He was just a story, created by a pudgy mystery writer to influence a gullible public."

"Caoilte King?" Madame Beaumont called, trying to reconcile the situation. "You're next!"

Emily patted her on the back as she stood up. Caoilte made her way to the stage.

"What will you be singing?"

"I...I don't have one. I couldn't think of anything that could do."

"Then we will give one to you." Monsieur Émile shuffled through a stack of papers on the seat next to him and pulled a random one from the pile. He looked at the sheet and nodded in approval at his choice. "This will do it. I haven't heard a good rendition of this in a while," he said, though his expression read _And I still won't after this one._ He passed it to the pianist in the orchestra pit, and he set it on the holder of the piano. He then found the corresponding sheet and handed that to Caoilte. She looked at the title of the piece: "Think of Me", from an opera called _Hannibal_. She attempted to make sense of all the lines, dots, and symbols on the paper in front of her, but couldn't.

"I don't know how to read music."

"Try your best. We're not judging you based on your ability to read it," Madame Beaumont encouraged. "You can begin when you're ready."

Caoilte nodded to the pianist, and he played the intro. She found the first line of the lyrics, and tried to follow along, imagining that the undulating waves of dots and sticks on the five staff lines were her voice, going up and down with the music.

_Think of me.  
>Think of me fondly<br>when we've said goodbye.  
>Remember me<br>once in a while;  
>please promise me you'll try.<em>

_When you find  
>that once again you long<br>to take your heart back and be free.  
>If you ever find a moment,<br>stop and think of me._

She tried to go on, but noticed there was a large space between the words. She guessed it was a pause, and she let the pianist play the instrumental. He nodded slightly to her, and she sang the next verse.

_We never said  
>our love was evergreen,<br>or as unchanging as the sea,  
>but if you can still remember<br>stop and think of me._

_Think of all the times we've shared and seen.  
>Don't think about the way<br>things might have been._

_Think of me_, _  
>think of me waking<br>silent and resigned._

_Imagine me,  
>trying too hard to<br>put you from my mind._

_Recall those days;  
>look back on all those times.<br>Think of the things we'll never do.  
>There will never be a day<br>when I won't think of you!_

Another space between the words on the paper, another pause.

_Flowers fade_, _  
>the fruits of summer fade.<br>They have their seasons,  
>so do we.<em>

_But if you can still remember,  
>stop, and think...<em>

She paused as the pianist stopped playing.

"What are these for?" She asked embarrassedly, pointing to something on the paper. Some students started to snigger amongst themselves and whisper.

"It's a cadenza. A vocalization," Madame Beaumont informed.

"Oh." Caoilte cleared her throat and tried to follow the symbols. Her voice cracked horribly as she tried to reach the last note, and blushed at her error. But she covered it by finishing the aria as best she could.

_Of meee!_

"Good!" Madame Beaumont said as Caoilte returned to her seat.

"See? You did great," Riley said as Caoilte sat down.

"I guess so. At least I didn't have a sandbag almost kill me," she chuckled.

"Har-de-har-har," Riley said sarcastically, crossing her arms and sliding down in her seat as the next person went up.

The rest of the auditions were quite uneventful. Once everyone was done with the singing portion, they moved on to the dancing. Caoilte did a pretty ballet, combining moves she learned from watching the corps de ballet with wilder Fae dancing. It made for quite a spectacle, and her audience gave her a good round of applause after she finished. In the acting section, Caoilte was grouped with two other girls and a boy she didn't know and performed a short skit.

Once all the auditions were said and done, it was close to ten o'clock, and the students were told to get ready for bed.

"How did you do that twirl-thing in your dance? Where you put your leg out in mid-air as you were on your toes?" Emily asked Caoilte as they wound their way back to their tucked away room. Caoilte just smiled.

"You were awesome. You were barely _you_ when you were singing."

"Thanks. You know, I really didn't feel like myself at all. I felt someone watching me, telling me to be braver and sing with my feelings."

"Well, who or whatever told you to do it sure helped. P!nk's song is badass enough even without you making it better." Riley told her.

"Thanks," Emily said, not sure whether to be honored or insulted.

"It's a good thing, kid."

Caoilte opened the door and they stepped into the room. When she turned on the lightswitch, she noticed something unusual.

"There's a rose on my bed," she observed, walking over to the chaise and picking the flower up off the folded blanket. She showed it to her roommates, who stared at it in wonder.

"It wasn't here before," she said, rubbing a finger against the soft bloodred petals.

"Second day at camp, and you already have a secret admirer?" Riley teased, laughing. "You lucky bitch."

"RILEY!"

"God! Calm the hell down! I was kidding, I don't really mean it!"

"Fine," Caoilte fumed and flopped onto the chaise, crossing one leg over the other and stroked the flower.

"What do you think caused that sandbag to fall?" Emily asked, trying to turn the subject elsewhere.

"Probably because of Riley's big head. It might be a magnet or something. I've heard big metal things can do that."

"Sand isn't magnetic, stupid!" Riley retorted, sitting on her bed and turning away from the others. Emily was lost for words. Her two new friends were already in a fight.

"Who do you think sent you that rose?" she asked Caoilte, once Riley had slid on her headphones and was absorbed with her phone.

"I don't know. Marius might have sent it to you and put it on my bed by mistake." Caoilte yawned, closing her eyes and stretching like a cat.

"I don't think so, Caoilte. As much as I like the thought, I think someone _meant_ to give it to _you._ "

"Hmm... I don't know. Let's wait a day or so and see who's right."

"Alright," Emily said as she turned out the light. "Good night."

But Caoilte was already asleep, holding the rose loosely in her hand, a small smile glued to her face.


	6. A    Séance?

**LlaO****- Sorry this took so long. Some of it was giving me a lot of trouble. But, as promised, you get to meet Erik. Or someone **_**resembling**_** him. Is it? Is it not? Whoever he is (I'm not giving anything away yet!), the plot twist will come in a few more chapters. THAT was what I was getting at with the "son of an opera ghost" thing in my summary. **_**Nothing**_** having to do with Love Never Dies (*coughcough* Paint Never Dries) or Phantom of Manhattan (*coughcough* **_**even worse**_**), it's simply a plot twist that will explain itself in time... ;)**

Chapter 6 – A...Séance?

The soft mantle clock chimed once, twice, thrice. Caoilte woke and threw the blanket off her, launching from the chaise and carefully setting the rose held in her hand down before began awakening her two roommates. _Come on people, it's showtime! We're burning moonlight here! _

"Guys! Wake up!" Caoilte whispered. She shook Emily then Riley violently, and not surprisingly, they weren't the happy campers Caoilte expected.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" Riley searched for the clock. "It's _three_ in the_ frickin' MORNING_!" She screamed, pointing at it. Caoilte clamped her hand over Riley's mouth.

"I'll tell you what the hell is wrong with me if you don't go and wake up the whole freaking opera house in the process!" she hissed into Riley's ear. She let Riley go with a shove to the shoulder. "Now, are we good?" she said through gritted teeth. They muttered and nodded but still looked pretty pissed. Whether Caoilte couldn't see that in the low light or just didn't care, she went on as if nothing happened.

"Now I had been thinking, that 'tour' that they took us on was pretty horrible, wasn't it? We wanted to see the Paris Opéra House at its best, right? To see behind the scenes, know how this place ticks? But all we got to see was almost entirely the same thing the tourists see," the girls voiced their agreements. "We were supposed to have 'elite access' to this place, but there's elite nothing." She smirked. "If we want to see the Opéra Garnier at its best, we're going to have to do it like the _Phantom_." At last, Riley was on the same page. She grinned a Cheshire smile and ran to her bedside to retrieve her shoes.

"You mean we're going to sneak around _after_ lights-out?" Emily breathed. She slid her feet hesitantly into her fuzzy house slippers, guessing she couldn't be left out of these plans, even if she tried.

Caoilte scoffed. "Never stopped me before," She smiled and started for the door. "Wait. Riley, no shoes, they might hear them. Socks, if you want them, but no shoes." Riley kicked them back off her feet and stood up, grumbling about the fact that she had already fully tied them up.

"What about the security cameras? What if we get caught?" Emily whispered.

"Don't worry about them; we won't. You're Australian, girl! Where's that fearless Aussie courage I've always heard about?" Caoilte turned the doorknob and stuck her head out of the crack. She messed the wires of the nearest surveillance cameras with magic and sent it down the lines to the ones farther away. She turned back to her roommates. "Let's go."

"Are you sure about this, mate?" Emily asked.

"Oh, come_ on_!" Caoilte grabbed Emily's wrist and dragged her outside. Riley followed and the trio started slinking down the hall; Caoilte in front, Emily following close behind and Riley bringing up the rear.

"So, what're we going to do? Just creep around the opera house until you're satisfied?" Riley whispered impatiently.

"I was thinking we take a more..._exciting_ route. We'll have a séance in Box 5 after we take a detour across the stage." Although she knew séances didn't work, it wasn't like she was going to inform the two anytime soon.

"_Séances_? You actually _believe_ in that paranormal gypsy shit?" Riley snorted.

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't. As least it's worth a shot. If we get lucky, Mr. O.G. will give us a call. And be very careful of what you say; he might still be listening from between these very walls." Caoilte's tone was slow, eerie and dark, and it sent shivers up the other girl's spines. But Caoilte was having fun. To her this was all just one extravagant act, poking fun at the gullibility of humans.

"And you also think he was _real_? Just like that Les Mis guy? It's just a _STORY_! Jeez, I thought everyone here was sane! I guess I spoke too soon," Riley retorted. The trio had now reached the end of the hallway and turned the corner.

"Hey Riley? That was rude, and you really should apologi—" Emily turned around and gasped. Riley was _gone_! They both stopped and peered back around the corner, but she had vanished without a trace. Emily nervously clung to Caoilte's arm and shut her eyes tight.

"I want to go back to the room, I want to go back to the room, I want to go back to the room..." she repeated quietly.

"Don't be a wimp! She probably did that on purpose to try to scare us. Come on, let's leave her. We're almost there, anyway." Caoilte tried to reassure herself that Riley was just being spiteful but she could not hide the fact that her hair was standing on end. "C-come on, we'll just go across the stage, no need for the séance now," she stammered, uselessly trying to maintain her bravado as the two continued down the hall._ Why am_ I_ scared? _She asked herself_. I'm the princess of the freaking Goblin Kingdom! Nothing should scare me! _

They tiptoed down the stairs in silence and came to the stage door Madame Beaumont had taken them through on the tour. The whole time, Caoilte had felt eyes staring her down, and this worried her even more. If she were in the Underground this never would have worried her, seeing as the eye lichen and sentries were used as a spy-and-security system throughout the Labyrinth. But the opera house was non-magical. There were no creatures guarding it or a giant goblin-powered, double-bladed-axe-wielding machine defending the front entrance. _Maybe this place still is haunted,_ she thought, before dismissing the notion with a firm_ No, that's stupid! I'm magical; I know what's real and what's not. Ghosts _aren't _real!_

She turned the knob and the two tiptoed backstage, maneuvering past the looming shadows of set pieces, props, and costume-laden tables. They treaded softly in between the wings and peered onstage. All the lights were off in the auditorium, leaving only the eerie red glows emitting from the exit signs above the doors in the house, and a muted blue light radiating from the gridded skylight floors above in the flyspace. The suspended backdrops and scenery hung high above their heads threateningly, creaking and swaying slightly from some unknown breeze. The orchestra pit had a large black velvet cover stretching its length, and it looked as soft and calm as a lake. The personal boxes had all their curtains drawn, at least at first glance. When scrutinized, however, the curtains of one specific box on the grand tier were flung wide on either side of the ornately detailed columns. _Strange, I wonder why only Box 5's curtains are open. _Caoilte stepped onto the stage to get a better view, but Emily pulled her back.

"Can we go back _now_?" Emily requested timidly. She was shaking slightly, and Caoilte felt a pang of regret of doing this to the girl. At first, this was only supposed to amuse herself and jolt her roommates' nerves a little, but now she was seriously scaring Emily. She bit her lower lip and pushed the feeling back down, indifferently turning back to the stage. _Father could be watching, I have to put on the act. _

Emily ran next to Caoilte and tried to cling to her arm for safety once more. Caoilte peeled the girl off and glared at her. Emily backed off a few feet and the two padded across the stage, not knowing that a lean shadow was silently watching them.

As Caoilte reached center stage, a trapdoor opened under Emily's slippered feet and she was sent falling through. She yelped as she plunged into darkness, just before the trapdoor closed above her. Caoilte ran towards the hole, but she was too late. It was already shut tight, and though she grappled at the edges with her nails, it would not open. She stood slowly and surveyed her surroundings. The immense theatre was soundless, save for her own quickened breathing. She scanned the house again; nothing seemed different. She assured herself everything was fine (except for the fact that both her roommates had mysteriously disappeared) and calmly started for the door offstage. Once there, however, she flung the door open with a slam and ran for dear life, not bothering to stop or keep her footsteps silent until she returned to the safety of her makeshift dorm room.

She leaned against the worn oak door and slid her back down its smooth surface until she was sitting on the floor. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She then caught her breath and closed her eyes, resting her head back on the wood. As she was hastily trying to figure out what had just occurred, she heard the faint melancholy strings of a violin being played. It didn't come from one specific direction; it appeared to be coming from all directions at once, enveloping the room with its poignant melody. A soft voice soon joined it, singing in smooth, bittersweet French and swathing Caoilte in its tangible beauty. It dove one second and rose the next, giving the impression of a chorus contained within a single voice. Never had Caoilte heard such pure and ethereal song before. It made her forget all the strange things that happened. She felt tranquil and warm in one moment, almost on the verge of tears the next, then soothed once more and gently wrapped within its sweeping, silky tone. It swirled around her and embraced tight, making her feel warm and safe, like a thick blanket on a cold winter night. She could've sat there listening for hours, days, _weeks_ if she could, but the song eventually ended.

As the last note waivered in the air and the bowstring had been passed across the violin for the last time, Caoilte stood swiftly and opened her mouth, about to beg that hidden instrument and disembodied voice and to stay and continue playing and singing. _If there were such a thing as angels, that would be how they sing, and that would be how they play._ Beyond the mirror, the devilish face that belonged to that angelic voice smiled, for it knew that it had this girl roped tighter than a lasso to its voice.

As Caoilte turned unhappily away from her experience with that beautiful voice, she heard a slight ticking and whirring emitting from the floor-to-ceiling mirror on the opposite wall. She glanced at it, and it pivoted halfway at its center and then slid away to reveal a small, dark passageway sloping gently downward. Wisps of fog curled around the gilded frame and flowed into the room. She knew she shouldn't be, and she couldn't understand why, but she felt inexplicably _drawn_ to the mirror and the tunnel beyond. As she advanced towards the opened mirror, she glimpsed a flash of movement. She tilted her head curiously to one side but pressed forward. She stepped over the low molding of the mirror frame, making sure not to snag the hem of her nightgown on it, and a black leather-gloved hand was softly extended to her. She gasped and raised her eyes from the hand to see who was offering it. All she could see in the low light was the outline of a tall man in dress-clothes more appropriate for the 19th century, entirely shrouded in a black floor-length velvet cloak and wearing a wide-brimmed felt fedora. She couldn't see his face at all, but she knew all she needed to know; or at least, what she _thought_ she knew.

_This is probably just Marius looking to have a little fun, can't say that I blame him. His buddies probably did the stunts with Riley and Emily and he's playing "Phantom". That song was a recording or something, nothing more. He got his outfit from a costume room. I'll just humor him for a while, pull off his fake mask to make sure it's him, and then tell him to bring me back. I'll advise the managers tomorrow morning and get the guy's ass fired. _

With this theory in mind, she took his hand. He grasped it firmly, but not threateningly. Candles lit—almost miraculously—in a three-pronged gold candelabrum held in his other hand. Caoilte now got a glimpse of his face. It was completely covered by a smooth white mask, but with a rounded rectangular piece cut from the bottom, showing his chin and lips. _Wow, this guy goes all out just to have a joke. That thing looks real! _

She followed this stranger down the corridor, and the mirror slid back and shut tight behind her. She whirled around, surprised, but her companion seemed not to take alarm.

"Do not worry," he said, in a voice as clear and smooth as the finest silk. "You are protected."

_Okay… so, maybe that song wasn't a recording._

"Come," he instructed, and gestured widely to the path beyond them.

She followed him down the passage, twisting and winding ever downward. They encountered forks in the path, and he maneuvered through them easily, as if he had done so thousands of times before. Eventually and it ended in an archway camouflaged in cloth. The cloth, in turn, seemed to be covering something tall and wooden. The man slid the tarp-covered item away from the arch and continued into the room. Caoilte moved around the object and glanced around at the room they had entered as he slid the piece of scenery back over the door. It was filled to the brim with props, costumes and small set pieces for other operas. Her companion seemed to know where they were going, and navigated her around the confusing cellar. They reached yet another wooden scenery piece leaned against the stone wall, and he pulled that away to reveal, not an archway, but a simple section of brick wall. He pressed some unseen switch between the mortar, and the wall slid out of the way. He gestured for her to follow him, and stepped into the dark hall.

Down, down, down they went, passing two more floors containing scenery: the second for the larger set pieces, the third for the rolled-up canvas backdrops and a few more scenery parts. From reading Leroux's old novel when she was a child, Caoilte knew that this third cellar was where the corpse of Joseph Bouquet was found hanging from a noose. She also knew that this joke was going _way_ too far; this guy should've already ended this charade and suggested they go back to the surface! She struggled under his calm but firm grip, trying to get away.

But his grasp only tightened as she fought to free her hand. She yelped as his hold went from safely secure to almost bone-crushing; he obviously had no intention to have her flee. The candelabra was dropped, clanging to the ground, the flames dying in a puddle of water on the floor. The passage was washed of color, plunged into darkness.

"HEY! _Marius_! What gives...? Let me _GO_!" she writhed but he only held tighter. In her panic, she failed to notice she could use her magic to escape and did the only thing she could think of. She started screaming, even though she knew no one else could hear, and his other arm wrapped strongly around her shoulders to stop her from moving. A hand was put over her nose and mouth, and as she tried to breathe, it smelled faintly overpowering, like a strong chemical. As she resisted the drug's effects, her eyelids drooped and her body went limp. She gave one weak attempt to remove his mask, but her arms were like lead weights. Her fingertips only brushed the edge of the mask before falling back down to her side. She noticed that his eyes were the only things she could see in the shadowy hallway, and they appeared to glow an unnatural yellow.

_Just...like...in the...novel..._

**O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O**

_Merde, why did I do this?_ He asked himself as he paced back and forth.

_A muse,_ a little inner voice reminded him, _you require one. And though you may not want to admit it; companionship. That was the reason you sent the managers the note to create this little camp, remember? They need more—better, might I add—singers, but that is the pretence. _

_Yes,_ he thought, arguing with the voice,_ but I was not expecting to discover someone this quickly! The last time, it took three months to even collect enough nerve to..._he trailed off and lost the thought._ I possess all the companionship I require within myself,_ he snapped, hoping that would be answer enough to shut the voice up. He quickly started formulating what to do. _I may well take her back up before she wakes and she will not remember a thing. She'll just think it was all a dream._

_You did not have a plan in the beginning, though_, the voice chided, ignoring his current strategizing_. You decided to improvise, invent it as you went along. As they say today, "wing it". Well, let us see what you've done now, hmm?_

"Hello? Anyone there?"

_Mon Dieu, she's awake! _In his haste to get organized, his coattails slapped a pile of papers off a desk, sending the yellowing pages fluttering to the floor as she came out. She groaned and put a hand to her head, apparently not noticing his state of disarray or her surroundings.

"Ugh, what did you _give_ me? I have a killer migraine." _It usually doesn't have that effect,_ he thought.

"Do not worry, it will subside soon."

"Well, 'soon' isn't soon enough." She leaned her elbows on an imbedded shelf in the wall for leverage and held her head in her hands. "What's in that stuff?"

"Nothing that should make you feel this awful. I will get you a glass of water if you wish."

"No, I'm fine." She shook her head to clear the haze. "Were you the one doing those things to Riley and Emily?"

"Your roommates?" he asked, feigning ignorance. "Those trapdoors are very worn, you know. Any of them could've caved in on accident. As to the one who disappeared around a corner, who knows?"

"Don't kid around," Caoilte said, rubbing her temples. "What did you do to them?"

"I simply gave them a fright, then sent them scurrying safely back to their room."

"They'll remember me though, won't they? Yeah, they will." She waved her hand in a slight turning motion, which seemed to do nothing. Unknown to him, Caoilte had just turned back Emily's and Riley's personal time for the last two days, making them forget her completely. "That'll do it," she muttered. _What is wrong with this girl?_ He thought as she finally was brought to her senses enough to look around.

"Why am I here? Where _is_ 'here'? What is this place?" her eyes, no longer hazed from the sleeping drug, finally landed on who she was talking to. Her brow furrowed as she wondered who would be insane to do something like this. "_Who are you?_"

"As to where you are: you are in my home," he started. "Why: to learn to sing. You seemed the most promising of the mediocre performances tonight. I will teach you how to sing in ways you never even dreamed of! Who I am, however, is not of significance."

"Oh, so do all your students get taught in a cave by someone who won't even say his own name?" Caoilte laughed derisively. "Some great teacher _you_ are."

"You would do better to think your words through before you speak, mademoiselle," he advised her. _Merde, this was a horrible idea._

"Really? Then give me answers! What is your name? I just can't call you 'you' for the time being." She placed a hand on her hip and awaited his answer, not knowing how easy it was to dig your own grave in his presence. He sighed.

"You may call me Maestro if you so choose, although I have no need for a name. Call me what you wish."

She suggested the only thing that came to mind. If a madman wanted to spirit her down to a famous house on an underground lake, she thought he deserved the name of the house's first and only tenant.

"How about...Erik?" Something flashed across his eyes, bright and vicious, but it lasted for only a mere moment before they calmed to their previous indifference.

"You may call me what you wish," he repeated, this time his voice colder and quieter, for reasons he couldn't think of.

"Um...alright. Erik it is." Caoilte stood awkwardly in place, staring at this eccentric madman and trying to calculate a plan for escape with the least use of magic possible. Big magic takes a lot of energy, and she usually conserved it only for when she needed it. She didn't want to be exhausted and have this psycho drag her back, for whom else besides a lunatic would take a girl down below the cellars of an opera house just to teach her to _sing_? "When do we start?" she asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer.

"If you wish, now."

**LlaO****-Yes, I know, I'm evil to leave with you with a cliffhanger, but that's sometimes just the way I roll. ;) Read and Review, as always. (I'm really hoping to post chapters quicker in about a month or so, because by then I'll be out of school for the year. **_**Yay for summer vacation!**_**) **

**Oh, and I'm planning on this story to be**_** at least**_** 20 to 30 chapters long. So we've barely scratched the surface! If you're reading, plan to be in it for the long haul! :D**


	7. Escape Attempt

**LlaO**** – YES! I'M NOT DEAD! Yeah, I know I said I'd probably be able to update **_**more**_** during the summer. I'm a notorious liar. ^^" It's been, what... EIGHT months now?! Yeah, I'm horrible. Just read the dang chapter already! AND ****HAPPY NEW YEAR****!**

**To the anonymous reviewer "Christine": Why you no write in proper English? Really now. Read my profile and you'll understand me. But thank you for finally tipping my review scale to 10!**

**Nope, I don't own Labyrinth or Phantom. And I also don't own the bit of Harry Potter I reference to in this chapter, either. What a shame...**

**Chapter 7 – Escape Attempt **

Three weeks had passed, and there was still no sign of Caoilte King. Not that anyone had really noticed, anyway. Marius had tried anything in his power to bring the matter up to his superiors, but no one would listen to a lowly stagehand. _Maybe this station_ was _too covert for me_, he thought as he walked down the hallway to the tucked-away dressing room. He knocked on the worn door and was swiftly admitted by Emily.

"Hi, Marius," she said as he stepped into the room, averting her eyes as she did so. _I wish she didn't do that. Then I can't see her face right._

"Hey," Riley called loudly from the chair she was sitting in. As always, she had her iPod on a bit too loud and had to yell to hear herself over her music. She slid the earphones around her neck and paused the song she had been listening to. "What's up?"

"Have you seen Caoilte? I haven't seen her for a while, and I was hoping one of you would know."

"Who?" Riley asked. "Never heard of a 'Kael-chee' before."

"Caoilte, your _roommate_? The blonde one, about this tall, who sang the aria from Hannibal for the audition? Stop joking around, this is serious!"

"We _are_ serious, Marius," Emily said in her soft Australian accent. "The name doesn't ring any bells for me, and Riley obviously hasn't heard of her either. If she's a roommate, then you've got the wrong girls." Marius was completely dumbfounded, but tried one last time before accepting their unawareness of Caoilte's whereabouts.

"So you're absolutely positive you don't know where she is, then?"

"Exactly," Emily replied as she shrugged. "Sorry we're of no help to you. But if you do get wind of her elsewhere, we'll be happy to help you look." She gave him a small smile as he turned toward the door.

"Well, thanks anyway, girls. I'll just be going now."

"Wait, Marius?" Emily stopped him right at the threshold of the doorway. She put her hand over his where he had rested it on the doorframe and leaned in slightly. "Good luck," she whispered, barely able to keep her voice from wavering because she was this close to his face. For a moment, they locked eyes.

"Thanks," he said. She was this close. He could almost imagine it; they were mere inches apart. Her pretty pink lips looked so soft, he brown eyes inviting and open. A moment later, and he would've closed the space with a kiss. But another stagehand called for him down the hallway.

"MARIUS! Where're yah, boy? We gotta' change tha' backdrops for tha' group onstage! Get yer lazy arse down here now!"

"I...I...I should go," he said with a weak chuckle, jerking his thumb down the hall.

"Yeah, sorry." Emily averted her eyes once more and slowly closed the door. Marius walked down the hall, thinking over all the things that had transpired. Caoilte gone, her roommates not knowing who she was...she tried to focus on his self-appointed mission and not on what had just happened at the doorway_. I can't think about her right now. It's my fault _he's_ out now, and if he has her...I don't even want to know what will happen._

As he opened the door into the wings, he heard a scream from onstage. He rushed in to see what was going on. From upstage, a flat scenery piece had fallen backwards and almost crushed one of the kids in the scene. He went over to where some other stagehands were helping lift the flat house piece back into place. One of the wooden legs used to keep the house up had been sawed at an angle so that it would break deliberately.

"Curiouser and curiouser..." he muttered as he leaned his shoulder in to help. _What is happening here?_

**O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O**

After almost three weeks of tutoring, Caoilte began to grow restless. This awkward routine made her irritated. He would wake her in the morning, usually with a song from the piano lilting in from the other room, and she would come out and have a nice, small breakfast prepared by him. He never dined, just watched her as she thanked him, sat at the table, and ate. Once she was done, they started their lesson. Since she knew next to nothing about reading sheet music, he had had to go back to square one and teach her how to understand the staff lines and notes and beginning with simple songs for novices. Even without singing now the solfège rung in her ears, with their sharps and flats, its repetitive curve of up and down ranges burrowing into her head. No matter how hard or how often she tried to tell him that operatic ranges weren't her thing or that she wasn't right for the song, he simply dismissed the thought and persisted she began whatever song she was singing again.

Though being an unrelenting teacher, he was kind to her. He let her voice rest when she began to tire, though not before pushing her a little more. He gave her a break and brought her water when her voice started to sound hoarse, but would not grant her it before she was rigorously quizzed on different majors or key signatures. When she messed up a line he was always patient with her, sometimes singing the line— each time seamlessly correct—to address her error. She tried not to make mistakes to keep on his good side, but each time he sang a line, she listened wholeheartedly, hanging onto each note. His voice was beautiful; handsome in register and timbre, flawless in execution and powerful to the ear. By the time they were done, it was already well into the afternoon. He then amused her by passing the time with a story or two, a magician's trick (that she could easily see through but humored him anyways), or a song on the piano or pipe organ. He occasionally went out and about the Opera, but he never invited her to accompany him, or even gave her the option. His life seemed to revolve around music; when he wasn't otherwise occupied he'd always be at the piano or violin or organ, always making some kind of melody. It began to start grating on Caoilte's nerves. _Does he have nothing else to think about? His family and friends? Some long-lost personal possession or pet? The insane asylum he escaped from? They _must_ be missing him…. _

Though she mentally complained, she never voiced her protests. She could tell that something wasn't right about him; one or two crucial pieces missing from the puzzle. Without them she couldn't tell what the picture was depicting: who he really _was_. She could feel that he was powerful and menacing, perhaps not magically, but definitely with the human power of harsh life experiences. Yet…he showed no signs of knowing that. He went about his day like an automaton, repeating what looked like often-done, unvarying motions.

It was starting to become tedious to keep up the magick over her to make her appear human. Even though it was only a small spell, it was chronic and was beginning to fatigue her magic supply. She estimated that (at best) she had a week before the spell would wear itself out to conserve her natural magic reservoir. She had to think of a way to escape, and _fast_!

"I must go out for a time." His voice jolted her out of her thoughts. "I have business matters to attend to. I won't be longer than an hour." His black cloak was hung over one elbow, and he held his hat in the other.

"Business matters? What kind of business do _you _do here?" Caoilte arched an eyebrow.

"You must learn when it is proper_—_and_ improper—_to ask questions, mademoiselle." With a curt spin of his arm, the cloak wrapped around him. Fastening the clasp, he began to walk towards the water's edge, where the boat was docked.

"Can I…come with you?" Though feeling offended by his dismissive statement, she still had to attempt some kind of getaway.

"No." his answer was clipped and immediate.

"Why not?" she whined, following him. "If I'm going to be here, I deserve to know things! I don't want to be cooped up here with nothing to do!"

"Practice your singing." Caoilte slapped her palm on her forehead.

"Like there's anything else I can do other than that! _Please?_"

"My answer will not be swayed by pleading. No."

"Why not?" Caoilte crossed her arms and huffed. She could hear the aggravation building in his voice.

"You are acting like a child. You may have privileges when you choose to act accordingly." She scoffed.

"Who're you to tell me that? You're not my parents!"

"Yes, but I_ am_ your teacher. You should treat me as so, with the respect entailed with the position."

"If I will, can I go?" Though the words were sincere, the smirk on her face said that she was winning. He sighed, eager to get off the topic. It was one simple note-delivering. She couldn't interfere too badly.

"Fine! If you must be so adamant about the matter, you may come along!" Caoilte smiled.

"Good."

**O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-O**

"How can you even _stand_ being in these tunnels? And can you shine that light closer? I can't see anything!"

"Well, they were not constructed for more than one person," he answered flippantly. "I very well could have denied you this privilege, but seeing as I didn't, you must abide by my rules. Now hush."

"Wait, what're we—"

"_Hush_!"

Caoilte followed in the narrow dark shaft, illuminated by the lone lantern he held outstretched in front of him, until he stopped.

"We're in the middle of nowhere!"

He shot her a glare and stood stock-still, listening to the conversation coming from the other side of the wall to their left:

"—But if we're to sustain our current revenue at the moment—"

"I don't care about the damned revenue! These ridiculous notes are getting in the way of my thinking about anything else! " Papers were thrown down onto a surface, probably a table. Caoilte recognized the speakers as Madame Beaumont and Monsieur Émile, and assumed she was next to the manager's office. "I mean...look at this one!"

"Well, they're all the same monsieur, but I know the feeling. Whoever brought this charade back from the dead has to be found, and quick."

"'Quick' isn't quick enough! If the kids start hearing all these rumors and ghost tales, they might panic and call their parents. Angry parents equal money refunded, and that won't be good for any of us."

"Maybe if we give this imposter what he wants—just once, hear me out. Don't give me that look—if we do what he wants, just once, maybe he'll be content and stop doing it."

"Or maybe he'll assume we've given in and he'll commandeer the whole damn Opera! We are _not _going to—"

A door opened. A different voice spoke, though Caoilte couldn't hear his exact words.

"We'll be right out." The voices faded and a door slammed shut. Immediately, her companion sprung into action. She edged to the far wall as he slid a small panel at hip height to the side. Light streamed into their passageway from the manager's office and Caoilte had to shield her eyes from the sudden onslaught. He withdrew a folded paper from under hid cloak and, holding it in two fingers, tossed it through the open panel and onto the manager's desk. Caoilte looked back and forth along the passageway, deciding the best course of action. It was a straightaway down to her right as far as she could see, but it curved back to the left where they came from. _There has to be some intersection further down,_ she thought quickly. _It's just like the tunnels that connect the oubliettes. Only...without any light._

Her plan made, she slowly slinked towards the right then, looking behind her to make sure he was still occupied with his task, began to dash down the hallway. She heard him curse and slam the panel back into place. The lantern crashed to the ground and they were plunged into shadows. His quickened footsteps behind her broke into a run as he began to pursue her through the tunnels.

Adrenaline coursed through her as she ran through the dark passage. Finally seeing the faint outline of a crossroad up ahead, she took it and hoped for the best. She ran blindly down the tunnel, and, stealing a quick glance behind her, saw his silhouette turn the corner. She couldn't have known for sure from only her momentary look, but she could have sworn his eyes were _glowing_ an unnatural yellow. Her nerves screamed at her, but she managed to keep her head under control. _Don't freak out. You'll make mistakes. He'll catch you if you start freaking out. Figure something out._ She turned down another corridor, and then another not far down the path. It ended with a door that she almost slammed into. Panting from exertion, she struggled with the doorknob in the darkness, but it would not budge.

"Dead-end!" she cried in surprise, then clamped a hand over her mouth and nose. She tried controlling her breathing so he wouldn't hear her. She gripped the knob and sent magic through her fingertips to unlock it, but was reciprocated with a sharp stinging in her fingers.

"Damn!" she yelped as she pulled away her had. _The doorknob must have some iron pieces in it that block my magic! _

Carefully, she snuck back to the crossroads and turned back, going in a different direction. She tried another door further down, and it allowed her entrance. Instead of being in a room, though, she was only thrust into more passageways.

"Oh, come on!" she muttered as she continued running down the hall. Suddenly, she stopped in the middle of the corridor. She listened keenly for any sounds other than her own harsh breathing, but could hear nothing._ Maybe I finally lost him._

Being more cautious than ever, she walked towards the nearest door.

Thankfully, it led onto the fly backstage. She walked carefully around the catwalks and scaffolding, trying to find a way down. Quietly tiptoeing down two spiraling staircases, she stopped for a moment to admire the beauty of the empty stage. It was obviously nighttime, the stage and house lights were off, the only light coming in was the blue moonlight from the skylight above her head. The last time she was down there was three weeks ago, when Emily had disappeared down a trapdoor_. I wonder how they're doing. I hope my spell worked well enough on them. With any luck, both of them have forgotten about that little incident._

She didn't hear the soft clicking of shoes on the scaffolding until it was too late. A hand gripped her shoulder and turned her around. Cold fear flooded her veins until she recognized who she was looking at.

"Oh crap! Marius! You scared the hell outta me! "

"Caoilte! I've been looking for you everywhere! Riley and Emily are being weird and kept saying that they don't even know you. What spell did you put on them?" Caoilte stood flabbergasted. How could he know she was magic?! She had hidden her magic well enough to fool the rest of them, so why not him too?!

"Spell?" she scoffed and tried to put on a confused, offended tone. "What do you think I am, magic or something? You have no clue what you're talking about!"

"I know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, _Faerie_."

"SHHH!" she hissed, looking back and forth along the catwalks. "How do you know?!"

"Well, I can tell when there's a permanent magical imprint on someone, since I've been around magic my whole life." He whispered back to her. "I'm a squib." Caoilte's eyes widened in surprise.

"Really? Wow! But, if you don't mind my asking...why are you here?"

"Here as in the fly, or here as in the Opera house?" he lightly joked. "I was sent by the Ministry of Magic to investigate the Garnier. Something about ghostly readouts from the cellars."

"I thought muggles weren't allowed Ministry jobs! And it's based through England, what're you doing in France?"

"My family has friends in high places in the Ministry. We moved to France from London when I was a child, and—as I'm the only male out of my siblings—felt left out as my sisters were accepted to Beuxbatons and I knew I'd never be able to attend a magic school. They sent me back at 18, and got me a job at the Ministry."

"But that still doesn't say why you're here!"

"Let me get to that, impatient Fae," he laughed. "I was sent with a wizard Auror here to investigate the matters, and somehow we brought the spirit alive again. Now don't look at me like that! Neither of us had dabbled in dark magic in our lives, I swear." Here he dropped his voice lower, so that only the two of them could hear. "The ghost was already there, but only in its ethereal state. We had tried to reason with him, but he turned against us and tried to scare us away. Jones—the Auror—had cast some spell at the ghost, something to make it dissipate, but it somehow backfired and gave the spirit a body instead. He chased us and killed Jones. I only barely escaped with my life. He's the one who has been keeping you down there, hasn't he?"

"Wait a minute! So you're saying that the _real_ Opera Ghost is alive again? The _real_ Erik is keeping me hostage down in that hellhole across the lake?!" She tried to keep her voice low, but it disobediently rose as she got angrier. "Couldn't you have done something?!" Marius held his hands up in self-defense.

"Remember, I wasn't the one with the magic in that situation. I guess I could've tried fighting him off, but I probably would've been killed, too. So yes, if you want someone to blame about your predicament, blame me. It's my fault Erik is alive again."

"But...that can't be! This guy is just some delusional maniac! The real Erik would have to be over 150 by now! This guy doesn't look much older than you!" Marius shrugged. "And to top it all off, he doesn't even know who he is! When I try to ask his name, he always sidesteps the question. He thinks he's some kind of son or heir to the real Opera Ghost."

"If the spell backfired, it could've done other things as well. I don't know how it happened or why it happened—Jones was an expert spell-marksman—but maybe those were side effects. No, this is the real Erik, alive and in the flesh again. So how did you get away from him?"

"I...I convinced him to take me with him to do something. I ran away when he was preoccupied, delivering a letter or something to the manager. Went though the passages between the walls until I found this door." Marius shook his head with a serious frown.

"You shouldn't have done that. For whatever reasons he might have, he chose you. When he finds you again, he will be very angry at you, and will probably not permit you to leave again. If you want to stay alive, and I cannot stress this enough, do what he says."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Caoilte threw her hands up in despair. "Just wait here until he comes to pick me up like a kindergartener from school?"

"That's one option," he chuckled and grinned at her analogy. "I think the best course of action would be to wait outside Christine's dressing room mirror."Caoilte raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms.

"It's the middle of the night. Riley and Emily would be sleeping. I'd need to sneak in there."

"Never stopped you before." He said with a smile. She sighed but smiled back.

"I guess I have no other choice, do I?"She asked, resigned to her fate.

"I don't think so. It'll be safer for all our sakes if you did this, including yours."

"You're probably right. And besides, at this moment, what have I got to lose?"

Marius nodded. "Come on. This is the way down." He led her down the staircases towards the wooden floorboards of the stage. Both were blissfully unaware of the looming shade that began to track and follow them in the darkness with bright yellow eyes.

**AN: Read & Review, please! Reviews are the fuel to my creative fire, and the factory in my brain will churn out more chapters! :D**


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